The Telling

by Mike Duran

  “I guess not. I was in the lobby, going through the directory.” Then Zeph looked at Tamra. “Your granddaughter mentioned you lived here. I hope it’s okay that I …”

  “Of course,” Annie said, clearly elated to have the young man at her doorstep. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Then I’m assuming you’re—”

  “Yes. I’m Annie Lane.”

  Tamra watched them politely shake hands and wondered what kind of history had brought them to this point. Annie glanced up and down the hallway and quickly motioned Zeph inside. She closed the door behind him, and they stood awkwardly in the entryway, Zeph with the book at his waist and Annie with a nervous enthusiasm.

  “I wanted to apologize to you for yesterday.” Zeph looked squarely at Tamra.

  After the initial shock of seeing the scar on his face last night, Tamra was much more able to look at him without distraction. He had an outdoorsy look shared by many locals, a tanned complexion and an unkempt ruggedness that spoke of lazy days along the creek or chopping wood near an orchard. His eyes were green, and she could see in them that his apology was genuine.

  Tamra glanced at her grandmother and shrugged. “Apology accepted.”

  Zeph nodded, as if he’d completed his first order of business, then turned to Annie. “And I wanted to personally give you this.” He handed her a cloth hardbound book, emerald green, with sweeping gilded lettering across the front.

  “Then you did keep it.” As Annie took the book, her wide eyes glistened.

  “And now I’ve returned it, just like that girl said.”

  “It’s been almost ten years.” Annie riffled through the yellowed pages of the book, glancing up at him as she did. “This is encouraging, you know.”

  “It’s a fundamental weakness of mine,” Zeph said. “A soft spot for my childhood roots.”

  Annie smiled, clearly buoyed by his words.

  “No doubt it’ll be my eventual undoing.”

  As quickly as her countenance had risen, it fell. “Please, let’s sit down.” She motioned to the living room.

  “I’d rather stand, thank you.”

  “Well, then. Do you know what’s in this?” Annie extended the book and patted its cover.

  Zeph’s posture did not betray hostility. In fact, he seemed to be slightly conflicted, almost nervous, as if the words he was about to say came with great labor.

  “Let me put it this way, Miss Lane. When that book was delivered, I was just a kid myself.”

  Annie nodded, her attention rapt upon the young man.

  “I was comin’ out of a really bad place in life,” Zeph admitted. “I was confused. Hurt. My mother’d passed away suddenly several years before that. My father remarried right away. Pearl was her name. We left Endurance and moved to Los Angeles. After living here all my life, it was quite a shock. But you know all this, right?”

  Tamra peered at her grandmother. Annie nodded slowly, as if she had reservations.

  “Then you know Pearl was a psychopath,” Zeph continued. “She hated everything about me. Especially this.”

  He reached across his body and pulled back the sleeve of his print T-shirt to reveal a tattoo of the Star of David. Tamra had seen enough tattoos to know this one was amateurish, probably inscribed in a garage or back-alley parlor.

  He let the sleeve fall back into place. “I got it as a tribute to my mother. I was the young prophet she’d always wanted me to be. Pearl couldn’t stand that, you know? She hated my mother for what she’d made of me and said I’d been brainwashed.” He looked away. “Sometimes I wonder if Pearl wasn’t right.”

  Annie shook her head. “Please, don’t—”

  Zeph stretched out his hand to silence her. A hint of derision seemed to rise in his voice. “Pearl left me with something.” He pointed to the scar on his face. “It was a really dull letter opener. Went right to the bone.”

  Tamra pressed her hand to her mouth, unable to stifle a gasp. Yet her surprise did not elicit a response from Zeph Walker. He just stared forward, intractable, as if he’d rehearsed the story a thousand times over.

  “Pearl’s in a nuthouse in Los Angeles now. She wanted to shut me up, and I guess you could say it worked.” He sighed deeply, and his features softened. “Anyway, when the girl delivered the book, I was confused. Lost. We’d just moved back from LA. I received an inheritance, bought the Carson Creek property. I was in and out of the hospital. They tried to reconstruct things cosmetically but weren’t able to do much, as you can tell. Which has put a serious damper on my career as a male model.”

  He glanced at Tamra, but acknowledging his humor seemed inappropriate, if not profane.

  “Anyway,” Zeph continued, “when the book showed up, all I wanted to do was bury everything. I stashed it with the rest of the junk my mother’d left me. And, to be honest, Miss Lane, I wonder if I shouldn’t have burned this stuff a long time ago.”

  Annie’s attention remained fixed on him, as if trying to decipher some hidden script in his story. Finally she said, “Then you don’t know about the prophecy?”

  “Let me put it this way, Miss Lane.”

  “Please, call me Annie.”

  “Okay, Annie. I don’t know about the prophecy,” Zeph crossed his arms, “and I really don’t care.”

  Chapter 25

  It was as if a silent communiqué passed between Zeph Walker and Annie Lane. Every twitch, every gesture seemed infused with the weight of some unspoken message. Tamra watched them carefully, trying to read their inner exchange.

  “Okay,” Tamra finally blurted. “What’s going on here, huh? Do you two know each other or what?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Zeph said.

  Annie’s brow furrowed. “You’re serious?”

  Zeph nodded.

  Her grandmother’s lips formed a thin crease.

  Tamra knew how stubborn and strong-willed Annie could be, and after seeing Zeph’s outburst last night, she could only imagine what kind of collision they might be heading for.

  “Wait right here.” Annie handed Tamra the book, turned on her heel, and hurried into her bedroom, limping noticeably as she went.

  The sliding of drawers sounded down the hallway, followed by soft thuds and the rustling of paper.

  While Annie scavenged for some mystery object, Zeph and Tamra exchanged nervous glances.

  “I–I’m sorry,” Tamra said. “She can be pretty obsessive.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  A louder thump jarred the picture frames on the wall.

  Tamra tapped her fingernails atop the cover of the book. “I feel like I’m caught in the middle of something.”

  “Believe me—you are.”

  Annie hurried out of the room with a large scrapbook. Setting it on the dining room table, she turned on the overhead light and motioned them over. Zeph did not budge. Annie leafed through pages of yellowed newsprint, faded Polaroids, bookmarks, obituaries, and pressed flowers until she came to several clippings.

  Annie spread the pages, stepped back, and said, “See if this jogs your memory … Zephaniah.”

  Tamra glanced at Zeph. He did not quell at the mention of his full name as he had yesterday. In fact, he maintained his distance, as if he knew what was about to be revealed.

  Tamra turned her attention to the scrapbook. It was the Desert Daily, a weekly paper that covered the not-so-exciting happenings of the Inyo County basin. Even the age of twenty-four-hour news blogs could not seem to kill off the old rag. It was still going strong, probably due to a sizable amount of local oldsters who refused to surrender to technological advance. Tamra cast a suspicious glance at her grandmother and then studied the news clippings. The heading of one page read “Prophet of the Plains,” and below it was a large picture of a young boy on a stage surrounded by all the regalia of an evangelistic crusade. Men and women looked on as the young boy strode on the stage, Bible in hand, preaching to the fixated congregation.

  Tamra read the subtitle aloud:
“Boy prophet preaches to packed houses.”

  She looked from her grandmother to Zeph, who still refused to make eye contact.

  Tamra returned to the newsprint, now fascinated by the unraveling history.

  “Miracles.” Tamra read another headline. “Young Zephaniah Walker wields the power of God.”

  “Oh, my.” Tamra gaped at Zeph. “This is … you?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Tamra leafed through several pages of newsprints containing pictures of young Zeph Walker praying, kneeling, and posing under the smiling gaze of his mother. Prophecy. Healing. Deliverance. The words emblazoned the pages, kindling fantastical images in her mind of tent revivals and wild-eyed evangelists.

  She looked at Annie. “So this is how you two—”

  “I attended several of your crusades,” Annie said to Zeph. “I was at the end of my rope. My son—Tamra’s father—was an addict by that time. Meth. Diet pills. Whatever he could get his hands on. I retired early from teaching, but our business dried up, and my husband fell into a terrible depression. His health withered before my eyes. Everything we had worked so hard for seemed to crumble. I felt like a failure. I needed a miracle.” She stepped forward. “Zeph, you changed my life.”

  He looked away and ran his fingers through his hair. “That was a long time ago, Annie. Like I told your granddaughter—”

  “And you can call me Tamra.”

  His gaze lingered on Tamra, as if vocalizing her name would push him over some psychic precipice. “Like I told Tamra, that part of my life is over. I was a kid. I—I didn’t really know what I was doing.”

  “That doesn’t mean what you were doing was wrong,” Annie challenged.

  “Maybe not, but I know what I’m doing now.”

  Annie stared at him for what seemed like a long time. Finally, she said, “Zeph, we need your help.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Okay. I won’t help you.”

  “Zeph.” Annie stepped toward him slightly, her hand extended.

  “You don’t know yet what you can do. You haven’t even begun to—”

  “Can’t you people leave me alone?”

  Tamra glanced at her grandmother. “Hold on a second. What people are you talking about?”

  “Please,” Annie said, ignoring Tamra’s question and motioning toward the living room. “Let’s sit down.”

  “I am not going back there, Annie.” He pointed at the scrapbook. “That part of my life is over. Don’t you get it?”

  “Please.” There was softness in Annie’s tone. “Let’s sit down.”

  Zeph pursed his lips and looked at Tamra, as if waiting for her advice. All she could manage was spreading her hands in a what-could-it-hurt posture of surrender.

  He sighed heavily. “Okay. But that’s as far as this goes.” He pointed a cautionary finger at Annie.

  By the look on her grandmother’s face Tamra could tell Annie had won a strategic advantage.

  Zeph and Tamra sat on opposite ends of the sofa, while Annie angled the rocking chair toward them. Tamra laid the old book between them, its gilded lettering sparkling in the lamplight.

  “Now, let me tell you my story.” Annie straightened her cargo skirt and settled into the rocker. “I’ve lived here in Endurance all my life. Harold and I always loved this place. It was so rich in history. Well, long before you were born, there was a belief about this land. The basin, the mountains, the Black Pass. The Indians called it the Valley of Enchantment. And for good reason. They believed it to be a place of magic.”

  Knowing her grandmother, Tamra could only imagine what kind of florid story would soon emerge. She braced herself.

  “Mind you,” Annie said, “I’m not one to give credence to doctrines of devils and pagan mythologies. It took awhile for me to even concede the notion. But the more I looked into it, I had to conclude they were on to something. Especially after … the Madness.”

  Tamra groaned. “How did I know you were going there?”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Well, it went there.”

  “Maybe it should go there.”

  “Nams, do you remember what we talked about?”

  “And do you remember—”

  “All right!” Zeph glanced angrily at both of them. “So what does this story and that book and that crazy old suicide have to do with me?”

  “I was getting to that.” Annie glanced sternly at Tamra. “When you showed up and started preaching, I was skeptical. I’ve seen my share of hucksters and snake oil salesmen. But the more I watched you and talked to folks, the more I knew there was something about you.” Annie leaned forward, her voice hushed. “Son, God was in you.”

  Zeph shifted uncomfortably.

  “That’s when Earl told us about the prophecy. Earl lives up there in the Pass, at Meridian.”

  “That kooky tourist dig?” Tamra said.

  “That kooky tourist dig is one of the most famous roadside attractions in the United States. In fact, you’ll find a detailed chapter about Meridian and the Endurance Valley mythologies on page forty-nine.” She pointed to the emerald green book. “We’d hoped it would have piqued your interest, nudged you our direction. Anyway, Earl told us about a prophecy written in the rocks. He didn’t think anything of it. Until you showed up.”

  Zeph tapped the toe of his boot on the carpet, looking more and more perturbed. “Maybe I should just go. Like I said, that part of my life is over. I’m glad I was able to help you, Annie. Really. But prophecies written in the rocks? C’mon.”

  Annie had moved to the edge of her seat. “The prophecy foretells a darkness that will spill out of the earth, poisoning the land and its people. It tells about a prophet who will rise up to stand against that darkness. And we knew that you were that one. The people, the land … it was waiting for you.”

  His agitations stopped, and Zeph squinted at her. “What did you say?”

  She furrowed her brow. “I said we knew you were the one.”

  “No. The other part.”

  “You mean, that the land was waiting for you?”

  His gaze turned blank and he said dully, “The land awaits …”

  “Yes,” Annie said, expectation rising in her voice. “The land awaits. It always does. God gave His people a promised land. Prosperity, produce, famine—it was all tied to the people. If they obeyed, if they followed, the land flourished and evil was restrained. The land always awaits. It awaits the reign of the righteous. It awaits redemption. It awaits those who will stand in the gap.”

  Zeph gaped at her. “You’ve really thought about this.”

  “I told you she was obsessive,” Tamra offered.

  Annie ignored their comments. “The prophets were always called to the land, Zeph. Moses was called to Egypt. Jeremiah and Ezekiel were called to Babylon. Jonah was called to Nineveh. When you moved back to Endurance, we knew it was true. You were called to this land.”

  Zeph closed his eyes and massaged his forehead with his fingertips. “I get that people believed I was a prophet. But how does this connect with that mass suicide? That was, like, over a hundred years ago. And what kind of darkness am I supposed to be fighting?”

  Annie lifted her Bible from the end table, settled back in the rocker, and began leafing through its pages.

  “She thinks people are changing.” Tamra’s words felt like a guilty admission. “That something is … possessing them. Replacing them. It’s the same thing that happened back then, I guess. Something just made everyone go crazy all at once. No one knows for sure what it was. But Otta’s Rift was right in the middle of it.”

  “It’s all here.” Annie tapped her open Bible. “Spelled out way ahead of time.”

  Zeph looked sideways at her.

  “In the last days,” Annie said, “they will find the key and open the abyss.”

  Zeph squinted. “You’re not suggesting that the old mine—”

  “And out
of it,” Annie continued, “will emerge hideous creatures from the pit which will torment those who did not have the seal of God on their foreheads.”

  “Wait a second—”

  Annie extended her hand to hush him, and she read, “Their hair was like women’s hair, and their teeth were like lions’ teeth … the sound of their wings was like the thundering of many horses and chariots rushing into battle. They had tails with stingers, like scorpions … and their faces resembled human faces.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

  “She’s not.” Tamra smiled curtly.

  Annie gazed at him and closed the Bible. “Revelation, chapter 9.”

  Zeph stared and then said, “As in the ninth gate.”

  Annie nodded. “According to the legends, on Planet Earth there are nine gates to hell. Most of the gates are scattered across America—insane asylums, cult clearings—”

  “Retirement homes,” Zeph deadpanned.

  “People can open those gates through lots of ways,” Annie said, apparently undeterred by Zeph’s warped sense of humor. “But when all nine gates are opened, there will be hell on earth. We don’t know how it happened, but we believe that mine up there—the spot of that suicide—is one of those gates. Even worse, someone has the key to it.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in pagan mythologies.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Annie laid the Bible on the end table. “But whatever happened up there—and whatever might be happening now—it’s evil. And it’s predicted right here.” She moved to the edge of her rocker, her eyes piercing. “Something unnatural is up there in that mine, Zeph. Someone has a key to it. We think you’ve got the ability to stop it.”

  He settled back on the sofa and became quiet.

  Tamra had grown used to Annie’s tales about apocalyptic doomsday and a colorful cast of villains, both visible and invisible, that would rise to the fore. While Tamra took her grandmother’s ravings with a grain of salt, she could only imagine how this sounded to a stranger like Zeph Walker. Although, having led evangelistic crusades, he had probably encountered his share of ravings.